


Let It Rise

by Starlingthefool



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-29
Updated: 2011-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:39:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlingthefool/pseuds/Starlingthefool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about baking bread, boiling down maple syrup, and patience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let It Rise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [metacheese (allnuthatchforest)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allnuthatchforest/gifts).



> Written as a gift for Metacheese, as part of the Glomp Gift fest.
> 
> This story takes place after Katniss's trial, before Peeta appears back in 12.

"What the fuck is this?" Johanna spat, opening the door.

"It's bread," Peeta replied mildly. The loaf was still warm, Johanna bet; if you broke it open, it would steam in the cold evening air. It smelled good, yeasty; a memory of her uncle making maple beer bubbled up in her mind and broke.

"I got that much, genius. What are you doing here?"

Peeta shrugged. "I needed a break from people asking me if I was all right, if Katniss had called me yet."

The implication being that Johanna would never bother asking if someone was all right. It was true; she wouldn't. It was obvious to anyone with half a brain that Peeta wasn't all right, and asking dumb questions wasn't about to make it otherwise.

“Did you bake that yourself?” she asked instead.

“Of course.”

"I didn't think you'd want to go near a fire again," she said, opening the door. "After what happened."

Peeta shrugs, and walks inside the cabin.

* * *

Johanna's family always lived on the outskirts of 7, closest to the forest. When her family was killed (VICTOR'S FAMILY DIES IN FLASH FLOOD, the headlines ran for a week, and nobody questioned how they'd died when it hadn't rained in a week), Johanna had come back to and rebuilt the cabin from scrap. They'd wanted her to live in the Victor's Village, down in the river valley, but it wasn't like they had much hold over her at that point.

The cabin is plain, simple; built of scrap timber and caulked with river clay. There's one door, one window, one bed, and no running water; there's a well and an outhouse around the back. If Peeta has any opinions about any of this, he keeps them to himself, which is just as well.

They don't talk that evening. They eat the bread with some blackberry jam that Johanna bought from a neighbor, sweet and tart like summer in her mouth, and some squirrel meat and tea. The sun goes down while they're chewing, and Johanna lights the stove.

"Bed?" Johanna asks. Peeta's been nodding off at the table.

Peeta nods. "Yeah. It was a long walk here from the train station."

Johanna smiles a little. "That's how I like it."

* * *

Johanna rises with the sun. Peeta's still sleeping heavy on his bedroll, curled up next to the stove. Johanna steps over him, gets dressed, goes out. She chops firewood, checks the traps for any game; there's a rabbit in one, which means fresh meat for breakfast. She breaks its neck, ignoring the high, plaintive scream, and brings it back to the house. Peeta's sitting on the doorstep, hunk of bread in one hand, steaming cup of tea in the other.

"How long are you planning on hiding out here, anyway?" Johanna says.

"How long until you kick me out?" Peeta asks.

Johanna makes a show of thinking. "I give it three more days before I snap. And then off with your head." She gestures with the ax.

Peeta laughs. "I'll leave the day after tomorrow, then."

* * *

Peeta touches the metal spike from where it protrudes from the smooth bark of the maple tree. He breathes exhales slowly through his nose, white plumes of smoke. "This..."

"It's a spile," Johanna says. She waits, watches, keeping her distance.

"We used one of these in the Games," Peeta says, looking at her for confirmation. "Real or not real?"

"Real. I got the idea from Katniss, actually," Johanna says, hefting the metal bucket. "But my uncles used to tap the trees, when I was a kid."

Johanna would pour the still-hot syrup on snow and eat it, chasing it with tea or, on occasion, sips of hot sweet whiskey from her father's cup.

"They'd make syrup out of it,” she continues. “Or beer. Sometimes, they'd even add it to bread as a treat," she says, as she pours off the collected sap into another bucket.

Peeta takes his hand off the spile, shoves it in his pocket. "Are they...?"

Johanna looks at him, then rehangs the bucket.

"'Course," Peeta answers himself. "Guess that's a stupid question."

* * *

Peeta starts to mix up some more dough while the sap is boiling down. "Might as well make use of the heat."

He uses one of Johanna's precious eggs and a little bit of milk, and some of the thin sap. He actually has yeast with him, which is ridiculous.

Joanna has her shirt off and is making her own use of the heat, stretching out in front of the stove to soak it into her skin, feeling truly warm for the first time in--

(There are still nights when she wakes up, drenched in her own cold sweat and convinced that she's back in the tank, the water is dripping down her upturned face, and she's so incredibly tired but the water is up to her neck, her jawline, and if she lets herself go for even a second then she'll sink beneath the surface and never come back into the air, so she listens to Peeta screaming and forces herself to _keep standing, damn it..._ )

\--in a while.

Peeta's studiously ignoring her half-nudity, which is kind of funny; they've seen each other naked and covered in their own filth, half out of their minds, drugged and tortured, but the blush on his cheeks isn't just from the heat.

"You finished groping your bread dough, yet?" Johanna asks.

"Yeah," Peeta says. "Gotta let it rise, though."

"For how long?"

“As long as it takes.”

Johanna grunts, annoyed. “I’m hungry now.”

Peeta shrugs. "Some things take patience."

* * *

  
The cabin is dark; the air smells like baked bread and burnt sugar. They go to bed with mouths sticky with syrup; Peeta's bread had only a hint of the sweetness, a kind of wild taste, like the scent of the wind in early spring.

"Johanna," Peeta says from his spot on the floor.

"What?"

"Do you get lonely up here? By yourself?"

Johanna thinks. "I feel lonelier around other people."

Peeta hums, a thoughtful noise.

"Peeta."

"Yeah?"

"How long are you gonna wait for Katniss?"

"As long as it takes," he answers, not hesitating.

Johanna thinks. "That's stupid," she answers finally.

She hears a rustle as Peeta sits up, turns to her. "What?"

"Waiting. It's stupid. You're almost always better off doing something useful."

Peeta huffs, sounding annoyed, and turns over. Johanna burrows deeper into her blankets and goes to sleep.

* * *

Peeta's sitting on her doorway again when she comes back from checking the traps. He's cradling a mug of tea in his hand; the burn scars across his knuckles are shiny and red in the cold.

"It's pretty up here," he says as she approaches. "I hadn't really noticed before. It reminds me of home, a little."

Johanna lays down her ax and looks around; the trees are all still dark and barren, the ground muddy, but the sun is catching the icy mist, and the hillside looks golden. The air smells like woodsmoke and frost.

"You should see it in the fall," Johanna says. "There aren't words for it."

"Maybe I will," Peeta says.

Johanna looks at him sharply.

"Maybe I can convince Katniss to come with me."

Johanna smiles, wry. "You'll have to bring a tent. I'm not giving up my bed."

* * *

Peeta leaves that evening. He's taking the bullet train all the way down to 12. He'll be there by morning.

He leaves half a loaf of sap-sweetened bread. Johanna gives him her uncle's recipe for maple beer, and kisses the smooth, unblemished skin of his cheek when they say goodbye.


End file.
